LETTERS FROM TEIGNMOUTH I OUR BALL Comment! c'est lui? que je le regarde encore! C'est que vraiment il est bien changé; n'est ce pas, mon papa? — LES PREMIERS AMOURS. YOU'LL come to our Ball;—since we parted, I've thought of you more than I'll say; Indeed, I was half broken-hearted For a week, when they took you away. Fond fancy brought back to my slumbers Our walks on the Ness and the Den, And echoed the musical numbers Which you used to sing to me then. I know the romance, since it's over, 'T were idle, or worse, to recall; I know you're a terrible rover; But Clarence, you'll come to our Ball! It's only a year, since, at College, You put on your cap and your gown; But, Clarence, you're grown out of knowledge, And changed from the spur to the crown: The voice that was best when it faltered Is fuller and firmer in tone, And the smile that should never have altered Dear Clarence-it is not your own: Your cravat was badly selected; Your coat don't become you at all; And why is your hair so neglected ? I've often been out upon Haldon To see how your boat is laid up: I've ridden the filly you broke; I sat in your love of a shawl; And I'll wear what you brought me from Flor ence, Perhaps, if you'll come to our Ball. You'll find us all changed since you vanished; We've set up a National School; And waltzing is utterly banished, And Ellen has married a fool; The Major is going to travel, Miss Hyacinth threatens a rout, And Jane has gone on with her easels, And Anne has gone off with Sir Paul; And Fanny is sick with the measles, — And I'll tell you the rest at the Ball. You'll meet all your Beauties; the Lily, And Lucy, who made me so silly At Dawlish, by taking your arm; Miss Manners, who always abused you By raving of rebels and Rock; you And something which surely would an swer, An heiress quite fresh from Bengal; So, though you were seldom a dancer, You'll dance, just for once, at our Ball. But out on the World! from the flowers Like a streamlet beginning to freeze, Though it cannot turn ice in a minute, Grows harder by sudden degrees: Time treads o'er the graves of affection; Sweet honey is turned into gall; Perhaps you have no recollection That ever you danced at our Ball! You once could be pleased with our bal lads, To-day you have critical ears; You once could be charmed with our salads Alas! you've been dining with Peers; You trifled and flirted with many, You've forgotten the when and the how; There was one you liked better than any, Perhaps you've forgotten her now. They tell me you've many who flatter, |